


burn and rave

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angry Sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4021159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David doesn’t know what to do when Cook leads him into his hotel room, one of his hands firm and unyielding against the small of David’s back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	burn and rave

**Author's Note:**

> asweetdownfall prompted me with ‘angry/make up sex,’ which I used as an excuse to write bodyguard!Cook.

David doesn’t know what to do when Cook leads him into his hotel room, one of his hands firm and unyielding against the small of David’s back. Cook’s face is stony, his lips settled in a thin line, and David knows he’s angry, can feel it in the tightly coiled tension emanating from Cook’s body, the hard line of his shoulders and the visible clench of his jaw.

“Cook?” he tries, his voice small. Cook barely glances at him, just pushes him further into the room, past the kitchen area and the spacious living room, towards David’s bedroom door. David’s words dry up in his throat, and he allows himself to be meekly led, shame rushing through him as he realizes Cook’s mad at _him_.

It’s not like David planned to get mobbed, though, so Cook shouldn’t be taking his anger out on him. The venue had been huge, and crowded, and though Cook had tried to keep up with David, a firm line of defense at his back as David made his way through the press junket and the eager fans after the show, they’d gotten separated. Cook had been saying something to Simon, the head of the security team, and David had pressed forward, not noticing, and some fans had taken the opportunity to push through.

It hadn’t been a big deal; David was used to crowds, even the ones that were a little, um, overeager, and he had never felt like he was in any real danger. He’d been pushed and pulled a little, hands grasping his arms and shoulders (which had actually been… not so great), but Cook had gotten back to him, just in time to firmly unclench a girl’s arms from around his neck.

David had breathed a little sigh of relief after that, glad to have his personal space restored, and he had been about to thank Cook for taking care of him (like always) when he’d gotten a look at Cook’s face, the hard line of his mouth and the way his eyes were narrowed and dark, and David’s words had left him completely.

Cook hadn’t said anything since then, not even on the ride over to the hotel, or as they were in the elevator. He’d just kept his hand firmly against David’s back, leading him through the hotel corridors, and for the first time since he’d met Cook, all those years ago when he’d first been assigned to David’s security team, David doesn’t know what to say to the man. 

When Cook finally releases him David nearly stumbles, spinning around in time to see Cook close his bedroom door. The lock clicks shut with a metallic _snic_ , the sound inordinately loud in David’s ears.

“Cook, what – ?” 

“Shut up.” Cook’s voice is rough, and low, like he’s clenching his teeth around the words, and David’s mouth clicks shut, his eyes wide as Cook starts pulling at his tie, loosening it from around his neck. “Get on the bed,” he says, and David’s brain goes offline. Cook just stares at him, silent and unmoved until David obeys, climbing unsteadily onto the high mattress.

His breath rushes past his lips as he moves to the center of the bed, unsure what to do with himself, whether he should lay back or just sit there and wait for Cook’s next move. He’s used to following the older man’s commands – to stay close to his side, to wait while the team makes sure the way ahead is safe, to stay put when things get out of hand – but there’s something new about the way Cook’s commanding him now, a dimension to the encounter that’s usually removed from their interactions in bed.

Usually Cook is soft, and gentle, always making sure that David is okay, making him promise to speak up if anything Cook does isn’t welcome. He’d been that way far before they started dating (which hadn’t even happened until Cook was two years into his employment, and they’d had to keep it secret, because it was totally inappropriate for a bodyguard to be romantically involved with his charge, which – David didn’t actually, um, care if it was against the rules or not, if he was being perfectly honest.)

There’s nothing soft about the way Cook’s looking at him now. 

He stalks across the room, his suit jacket unbuttoned, tie dangling around his neck, and David nearly jumps as Cook presses one knee to the mattress, climbing up and over, his hands reaching for David.

David doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t, but he jumps when Cook touches him. He’s not afraid, he’s just – he doesn’t know what to expect right now, doesn’t know what Cook will do, but he’s not scared of him. 

Cook’s eyes darken at the movement; he curls his hands around David’s waist, his fingers hot even through David’s shirt, and _pulls_ , yanking David bodily down the mattress until Cook’s leaning over him, his thighs on either side of David’s. His expression is fierce and a little scary, his eyes dark and narrow. It reminds David of all the times Cook’s crowded in close to him during a scuffle or in crowds, protective and warning all of those around him to keep back. David is reminded in those moments that Cook is not just the guy who does crossword puzzles on the bus or engages in impromptu jam sessions with him during his time off; he’s trained to keep David safe, to fight if it comes to it. Dangerous, when he needs to be.

David’s never had that look directed at him, and it makes him feel both cautious and a little wild – like he needs to watch each move he makes, but also like he wants to push Cook, to see how far the older man will let him go. 

It’s strange, and a little heady, and David swallows roughly as Cook leans over him, the ends of his tie brushing against David’s chest.

“I told you to stay close,” he says, low and dark, and David nods without meaning to, even though he hadn’t meant to move ahead in the first place; he hadn’t been _trying_ to disobey Cook’s orders. “I told you to stay close so I could keep an eye on you, but you didn’t. You went ahead and got mobbed, and you don’t even realize the danger you put yourself in, do you?” When David doesn’t answer, Cook’s fingers tighten around his waist; it’s not painful, not yet, but it makes him gasp. “Do you?”

David shakes his head; seems he can’t even speak right now, not with the way Cook’s looking at him, talking to him. 

“Do you know what that did to me, seeing you disappear?” Cook continues, his fingers releasing their grip on David’s waist only to wrap around his belt, undoing the clasp with hard, jerky motions that nearly pull David’s hips off the bed. David’s fingers knot in the bedcovers as Cook slides the strip of leather through the loops and tosses it over the bed, where it lands with a muted thump on the carpeted floor. “Do you know what I thought, watching the crowd swallow you up?”

David croaks out, “N-no, Cook. I – “

“That’s right,” Cook interrupts, yanking the zip on David’s jeans down so quickly that David gasps. “You _don’t_.” He yanks David’s jeans down before David can even catch his breath, moving off of him to pull them free, and then settles back over David’s legs, caging them in. The cool air against his bare skin makes David shiver, the look on Cook’s face even more so.

“I looked away for a moment, David, and you were _gone_.” Cook’s fingers brush roughly over David’s hips, sliding under his shirt and rucking it up past his stomach, bunching the material around his chest. David sucks in a breath as the silky material of Cook’s tie, hanging loose around his neck, brushes against his bare skin. “I didn’t know where you were, or if someone might hurt you, or whether or not I’d be able to get to you in time. All I knew was that you weren’t _safe_.” 

David shakes his head; he feels awful and guilty, because he knows Cook’s mad at him, he knows Cook was worried, was probably losing his mind once he realized David was no longer in sight. Yet he also feels breathless with anticipation, hot under his collar and further down, in his belly, at the way Cook’s handling him, the way he can feel the strength in Cook’s hands, the barely coiled tension in his shoulders all the more evident the more he tries to contain it, his muscles bunching beneath his suit jacket. 

“Cook, I’m _sorry_ ,” he whimpers, though he doesn’t really know what he’s apologizing for – the way he’d lost Cook earlier (even if he hadn’t meant to!) or the way his body is reacting now, his back arching a little off the bed and a noticeable tent in the front of his boxers. 

Cook doesn’t say anything in response, doesn’t even acknowledge David’s apology. He’s pulling David’s shirt up over his head until he can twist it around his wrists, and David groans as he tests the bonds, feeling a little trapped with his arms raised above his head on the mattress. Cook’s muttered, “Don’t move,” does absolutely nothing to quell the desire rising in his gut; if anything it only makes David’s blood run hotter, his breath coming in pants as Cook pulls back, his hands curving around David’s hips.

“What do I always tell you?” It’s impossible to think when Cook is touching him, his fingertips warm through David’s boxers. The waistband’s slipped down a little, exposing the top of his hipbones, and David wriggles, wanting Cook to pull them off. The scrape of fabric against his erection is too much and yet not enough at the same time. It’s not what he _wants_ ; he wants _Cook_ , wants Cook to touch him there, wants to touch Cook, to prove how sorry he is.

“David.” Cook’s voice brooks no argument, his fingers digging in to David’s skin, and David stops moving, focuses on Cook’s face, on his tight lips and dark eyes. “What do I always tell you?”

“T-to stay close,” David moans, his legs shuffling restlessly against the bed. “To not leave your side.”

“That’s right,” Cook says, his voice growing softer, and then, in one quick jerk of his hands against David’s hips, flips David over onto his stomach. 

David keens into the mattress, his arms stretched awkwardly over his head. Cook’s got his hips raised off the bed, and between one harsh breath and the next he pulls David’s boxers over his ass and down his thighs, sliding them off his legs and tossing them to the floor. He presses his thigh in between both of David’s, spreading his legs, and David whimpers as he realizes Cook’s still completely clothed. He can feel the older man’s suit jacket brushing against his sides as Cook moves closer, can feel the buttons on Cook’s shirt against his back as Cook leans over him.

“Tell me you won’t do that again,” Cook rumbles against his back, his lips pressed to the nape of David’s neck. The words may be soft-spoken, but they’re firm, with an underlying edge that lets David know that Cook’s anger hasn’t waned. He nods shakily against the bedspread as Cook’s hands leave trails of fire over his shoulders and down the long line of his back, pausing to squeeze at the globes of his ass, his thumbs slipping into the hot cleft between and wrenching a moan from David’s throat.

Cook stops, his fingers gripping David’s cheeks, and David hates it; he wants to push back, wants Cook to _move_ , but he knows he won’t, not until David says what he wants.

“I won’t do it again,” he groans into the mattress, and then, because he can’t help it, “Cook, _please_.”

When he feels Cook’s breath against him he nearly sobs with relief. The first touch of Cook’s tongue to his hole has him groaning into the mattress; the second has him crying out raggedly, knees sliding against the bed. Cook’s not being particularly gentle about it, or slow, burying his face forward and pressing the flat of his tongue against David, laving his entrance with quick, harsh strokes. His hands grip David’s thighs, pulls him back, and up, until he feels completely exposed, almost dangerously so. Cook’s grip is firm, nearly bruising, _angry_ , but David’s not afraid, he just doesn’t want Cook to _stop_.

His harsh pants fill the room, coupled with the slick, wet sounds Cook’s mouth is making as he fucks David open with his tongue. David’s cock hangs thick and heavy between his legs, leaking onto the bedspread below, and the lack of friction where he needs it most is torture. David scrabbles at the sheets with his fingers, needs something to ground him, but he can’t get any traction with his wrists bound. 

Cook pulls his mouth away, David keening at the loss, and lowers him to the mattress. The first brush of the bedspread against his erection sends him reeling, makes his hips jerk forward in tiny, uncontrolled thrusts. Cook’s fingers dig into his hips and still his movements, and a sob rises in his throat as he’s held there, immobile. He’s so _close_ , his balls drawn up tight, his cock aching; if Cook would just _touch_ him, he could – 

“Told you not to move,” Cook rasps, flipping him over onto his back and leaning over him. His hands curl around David’s sides, his knees pressing into the bowl of David’s groin, and oh gosh, his lips are swollen and wet, shiny with saliva, and David can’t help it, he arches his back off the bed, wraps his legs around Cook’s waist, trying to pull him closer, needing Cook to touch him. It wouldn’t take much, just a few quick strokes of Cook’s hand to get him off, or his mouth, or –

Cook moves forward, hips pressing against David’s, and David groans; he can _feel_ him, hot and hard even through the fabric of his pants, and David clenches his teeth around the whine that wants to escape as Cook starts to rut shallowly against him, rubbing his clothed cock against David’s bare skin. A whimper leaves his mouth regardless, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as Cook reaches above his head; he hears the bedside table rattle as Cook opens the drawer, hears the crinkle of foil and the sound of a cap being popped, and he digs his fingernails into his palms as Cook stops moving against him, dropping a tube of lube and a condom on the bed beside David’s hip. 

David’s head falls back to the mattress, teeth chewing listlessly at his bottom lip as Cook’s fingers trail along his hip and over his thigh, warm and dry one moment and then – after a brief pause wherein David stares at the ceiling and holds his breath – cool and slick the next, moving in-between his legs with purpose, bypassing his cock completely to curl, thick and wet, in the cleft of his ass.

David tosses his head at the first brush of Cook’s fingertip against his hole. He feels like he won’t last long enough for Cook to get inside him, too close to the edge already. “Cook, _please_ \- “ he begs, wanting Cook to hurry, but all Cook does is stare at him, the tip of his finger barely breaching David’s body.

“You won’t come until I tell you to,” he says, pressing forward, pressing _in_ , and David gasps brokenly, rocking his hips as Cook starts to move, slow, steady thrusts of his finger. “That’s an order, David. Do you understand?”

David nods, can’t speak, and when a second finger presses in alongside the first he has to close his eyes and clamp down on his lower lip, fighting to keep control of his body, to follow Cook’s order.

By the time Cook has three fingers thrusting inside of him, curling to brush against that spot that makes David see stars, David feels so tightly wound that one more touch could break him, send him careening over the edge if Cook doesn’t stop, slow down.

He tries to tell him, gasping out, “Cook, I can’t – I’m gonna – “ and nearly sobs when Cook presses in one last time before pulling away, leaving David feeling exposed and empty. He draws in one shaky breath after another, chest heaving as Cook eases his legs down onto the bed, and tries to regain some control over his body, push his impending orgasm back down. 

The sound of a zipper being pulled has him straining his neck up, a desperate whine building in his throat when he sees that Cook’s slacks are unbuttoned, his cock jutting out between the open zip, flushed red with pre-come beading at the tip. Cook reaches for him, wrapping his arms around David’s back and lifting him up, and David nearly loses his tenuous control as he’s settled in Cook’s lap, his arms slipping over the other man’s head, wrists still bound so that he can’t hold on to anything, can’t grab Cook’s shoulders to steady himself or clench his fingers in Cook’s hair. 

He can hear Cook tearing open the condom, can feel it when he rolls the latex onto his cock, and then he’s curling one hand around David’s hip, the other guiding himself to where David wants him, and there’s a moment where they don’t move at all, and David can hear his heart pounding, can hear how hard Cook’s breathing, the warm huff of his breath hitting David’s neck, and then finally, finally he’s pressing in, in, in –

“O-oh gosh, Cook, _oh_.” Cook’s not slowing down, not easing in, not being as gentle as he usually is, and he’s buried to the hilt in one breathless moment. David can feel Cook’s zipper against his ass, and it’s making everything hazier, hotter, that he’s completely naked while Cook’s still dressed, still wearing the clothes that mark him as David’s bodyguard.

“Please move,” he gasps, pressing his lips to Cook’s throat, tasting sweat and heat and the slight tang of Cook’s cologne on his tongue. “ _Move_ , Cook.”

David’s not asking so much as demanding, and it seems to fuel Cook’s anger, his grip on David’s hips turning punishing, fingertips pressing hard into his skin, and David knows he’ll have bruises afterward, purple crescents in the shape of Cook’s fingernails marking him up.

Cook lifts him up, slow, and then pulls him back down, snapping his hips up, and David wails, clenching his arms around Cook’s neck, holding on as best he can with his wrists bound.

“T-there, right there, oh.” He’s babbling, his voice hoarse and breathless, and Cook keeps going, lifting David off of his cock only to pull him back down, until he’s nearly bouncing in Cook’s lap, mouthing wetly at his throat, biting his lip to contain his cries but unable to hold in his moans whenever Cook grinds up into him, the slick, hurried sounds of their coupling filling the room, the mattress creaking underneath them. David spares a moment to be glad that the others aren’t back yet, because they’re being so _loud_.

He can feel his orgasm building again, the heat pooling in his stomach and groin, his balls drawing up tight to his body. His erection brushes up against Cook’s stomach each time they move together, leaving a wet spot on his shirt, and he needs Cook to touch him, needs Cook to let him come, _please_.

“Please,” he breathes, rocking his hips, groaning at the slick, sweet slide of Cook’s cock inside him. “Please, Cook. I’ll listen to you, I swear, I won’t – _ah_! – w-won’t disappear again, _please_.”

He can tell by the hitch of Cook’s breath that that’s what he was waiting for, wanting to hear. Cook reaches between them, wraps his fingers around David’s dick, thumb sliding wetly over the head, and his voice, all low and dark and gravelly against David’s ear, telling him to, “Come, David, c’mon. You can come now,” has David tossing his head back, sobbing as his orgasm crashes through him, waves upon waves leaving him nearly limp and exhausted in Cook’s arms. 

The sensation of Cook still moving inside him, taking his pleasure from David’s spent, sated body leaves him shivering, breathing hard against Cook’s throat, and when Cook comes, cursing roughly against the shell of David’s ear, David shudders in his arms.

Cook is infinitely gentle when he pulls out, cradling the back of David’s head as he lowers him to the mattress. He unties David’s wrists, tossing the crumpled shirt to the floor, and runs his fingers softly over the faint red lines left behind. 

David lies quiescent under the caresses, eyes lidded and heavy, a tired smile curling his lips as Cook runs a hand through his hair, presses his mouth to the forming bruises on David’s hips. Cook’s shirt is wet and sticky with cum, his throat red where David had pressed biting kisses during their lovemaking, but the thunderous expression is gone from his face, his brow smooth and lips soft and yielding when they press against David’s own.

“I’m sorry, David,” he mumbles, his touch light against David’s hips, skirting the bruises, and David sighs out a soft laugh, pulls his bodyguard down on top of him, and tells him happily, “Don’t be.”


End file.
